Discover Top Posts Tagged with #for stan

In 1994, Stan made his first million. Profits over the course of the last 12 years finally tipped over and altogether reached a million.

Stan sat back in his desk chair when he realized this. He had a ringing in his ears as Pa’s words from 22 years ago echoed back to him. “Well this time you cost our family potential millions! And until you make us a fortune, you aren’t welcome in this household.”

Well, he’d done it. He’d made a million. And it would only grow. It had to, if Stan was going to make enough to save Ford.

Stan’s body trembled. He let out a broken sob and cried. Cried himself out over the numbers and figures displaying the news. He’d finally done it. Too late, as usual. Being a liar and a cheat, as usual. Pa was dead. Ford was trapped. Ma wasn’t safe to call. His family was already so far splintered, he wouldn’t recognize it even if he used a whole vat of glue to stick it back together.

When Stan could get his breathing under control, he picked up the phone and dialed a number…

“Hello?”

“Hey. Is this a good time? I feel like we should talk.”

“Stanford?! Is that you?”

Stan flinched but answered. “It’s me, Shermie. Sorry it’s been a while, huh?”

Shermie had more than few things to say, questions to ask–the ‘why nows’ hard, but necessary. The brothers talked. Shooting the breeze. Reconnecting slowly, as brothers and friends. Sam jumped on the line at one point, and Stan spoke to his nephew. Shermie’s wife did as well.

By the end of the call, Stan felt more like he belonged than anything else had made him feel in years.

He almost laughed as an old adage came to him.

He felt like a million dollars.

(And if his almost laughter turned to choked sobs, well, no one was around to witness it. He’d made sure of that.)